


The Thought That Counts

by mithrel



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Blanket Permission, Fluff, Gift Giving, M/M, Podfic Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-12
Updated: 2011-10-12
Packaged: 2017-10-24 13:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mithrel/pseuds/mithrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They didn’t really give each other gifts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thought That Counts

They didn’t really give each other gifts. Neither of them had birthdays, and the one time Aziraphale had suggested that Crowley celebrate Christmas the demon had given him such a dire look that he didn’t dare ever mention it again.

But as August rolled around he realized they did have something to celebrate. After all, they were coming up on the one-year anniversary of the day the world didn’t end. Surely that deserved some sort of observance.

So he went out to the shops and looked around. He didn’t want to buy wine–that was too everyday. He wanted something unique. He didn’t really understand electronics, and he was sure Crowley had one of everything available in any case. He finally found something in a small curio shop that he thought would suit, and took it home and wrapped it up.

On the Sunday anniversary of Adam declaring that there would be no more “messin’ about,” Aziraphale and Crowley were doing the Ritz.

After they’d finished the first course Aziraphale took out the package and handed it to Crowley, who peered at it as if he expected it to bite him, or possibly explode. “What’s this?”

“It’s a present,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley sighed. “Yes, I can _see_ that, angel! But why are you giving me a present?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Do you know what day it is?”

Crowley blinked at him slowly. “…Sunday?”

“Do you remember what we were doing last year on this date?”

Crowley stared for a moment, then groaned and buried his head in his arms. “Angel,” he muttered, his voice slightly muffled, “I’ve done everything in my power to _forget_ what happened last year. I’d almost succeeded, until you reminded me.”

“It wasn’t that bad, was it?” Aziraphale tried tentatively.

Crowley sat up again and glared at him balefully. “That was the worst week of my life, _including_ the fourteenth century! And now you want to, what, _celebrate_ it?”

“Well, the world’s still here, isn’t it? That’s something to be happy about.”

Crowley ignored him in favour of taking a drink of his wine.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley sighed. “Since you’ll act like I was tempting people in front of you until I do, _fine!_ ”

He slid a finger under the tape and carefully unfolded the paper, setting it aside. Then he opened the box and took out the figurine nestled in the tissue paper.

Crowley looked from the pewter snake back to Aziraphale, a wry expression on his face. “I suppose you think you’re being funny.”

Aziraphale wrung his hands, suddenly not sure that this was a good idea. “Well no, not as such. I just thought you’d like it.”

Crowley snorted, putting the figurine back in the box. “Bloody ridiculous idea, celebrating the Apocalypse. And at any rate, demons don’t give gifts.”

Aziraphale nodded, but he noticed that Crowley took the box with him when they left.

***

As he was attempting to reorganize his bookshop later he came across a scroll he didn’t remember owning. Twelfth century, by the ink.

As he flipped to the last page a sheet of loose-leaf paper fluttered to the ground.

He recognized Crowley’s handwriting immediately. _This is still a ridiculous idea, and demons don’t give gifts. If you mention this to anyone, including me, you’ll regret it._

Aziraphale smiled at the empty threat and put the note and scroll away.


End file.
